


Phantoms in their towers of light

by risinggreatness



Series: Circle 'round the sun [116]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risinggreatness/pseuds/risinggreatness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(4/4 Sith War) In the final wave of the Sith War, Viscous is still at large, but it is the Force-wielder, the Son, who is now the greatest threat to the galaxy (not EU compliant)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantoms in their towers of light

The Son will not be stopped, not on this system or in any other system across the galaxy. The pursuit is relentless, but the results are the same.

He will not be killed here, where all impermanence of that state is blocked from Him.

Sam sees the reality as much as Bee does, as much as they all do. Except Sam and Bee know they have a choice.

They weren’t close to Him on the battlefield, but there was an undeniable pull. His eyes flicked away from Ahsoka and Master Aven to where Sam dueled one of his acolytes.

There was too much interest.

_You, you could bring me the secret of Death. Your line has it and where others have been unwilling, you could be compliant._

Sam throws up in the aftermath, to get the taste of the thoughts out; Bee holds her hair back.

“He must have offered mom and Luke too, you were just next.”

“But I think we can do something else – more than anyone in our family, _together._ ”

She looks at Bee’s face, a sad smile in only the corners of her mouth.

_I know. I just don’t want to have to face it yet, but to end the war –_

“We can’t tell anyone, they’ll never forgive us for going by ourselves, but I just know it has to be us – and us alone.”

Bee knits her brows unconvinced.

Firmly, “No one. Not mom, not dad, not Luke –” pausing mid-list, “– not Kat.”

“So you wouldn’t even say anything to Jon?”

Sam flinches, the proposal and its rejection still in her mind.

“We can’t just disappear,” Bee insists.

_But that’s what we_ have _to do._

_Someone. Someone has to know._

“Pres,” they say together.

\----------

The Force guides them to the rift where the Son will emerge next. It is a directionless flying neither of them care for, but it calls on every ounce of faith they have learned together since they were born.

It feels like taking a deep gulp before plunging under. They are not aware of anything in the universe but each other, the only anchor points in the endless abyss of nothing.

When Bee and Sam rouse themselves, their bones and muscles feel infinitely heavy. A disintegrating city stands before them.

They have made it to the Son’s world; rust and bone.

\----------

Pres wakes with a jolt. The dream of falling was too real, but it was not himself he sensed still reeling.

( _Bee and Sam only said, “Do not follow.”_ )

He runs the short distance from his bunk to where they slept – beds empty.

His hands shake as he knocks on mom and dad’s door.

“It’s too late,” mom groans.

\----------

The council convenes; faces are drawn and grey.

Leia doesn’t understand why they’re so distraught; it is not their daughters who have been ripped from them, however willingly.

( _It is cruel and unfair. Many of them have children to lose._ )

Han wouldn’t look her in the eye this morning.

“We can’t lose focus on the war here. In many ways, this is to our advantage. For however long Bee and Sam can give us, Viscous is left to his own devices. He is not nearly as strong without the Son pulling his strings.”

Jiro speaks the truth, but it is Bee and Sam who are the diversion and it makes Leia feel ill. She and Luke should have been strong enough to go; they already know immeasurable loss and pain to the Dark Side.

_It’s not your war. It’s not your trial_ , a voice in the back of her head whispers.

Leia nods to the invisible speaker. Mara looks at her curiously; Mara, the only one whose words have offered any comfort.

“You alright?” she asks, when the conference is over.

“No.”

( _As it should be._ )

Pres stirs listlessly at his food when the three of them find a moment to eat dinner. When she leaves the table, Leia plants a kiss on top of his head.

For Han, it is gentle strokes to his back as they lay in their bunk on the Falcon.

\----------

Her parents disappear to go to sleep, to greet what new conflict the war will bring later.

Shmi doesn’t feel like going to bed now. She fiddles with her lightsaber, without a fighter of her own.

She thinks of calling Dev, all the way on the other side of the galaxy, but feels someone else calling to her. There is no holo, but the cabin lights up as if there were.

“In grave danger your cousins are, hmm?”

\----------

“You have to do it,” Pres whispers; a visible shudder runs down Shmi’s spine. “If Master Yoda said the longer they stay there, the less chance they have of getting back then –”

Pres cannot finish the thought. He hates that he cannot go to his sisters’ aide; that this sole option forces him to be the only one left. But he’s only ever seen Master Yoda a few times and not for years; something tells him it is Shmi’s purpose to follow his sisters into death.

( _Mom and dad’s grief and fading hope will be mirrored in Luke and Mara’s faces._ )

“I promise to come back with them,” Shmi swear firmly, though they both know the growing dread she feels too.

Pres offers her one last tight hug, hoping, somehow, it will bring her back; it will bring Bee and Sam back.

\----------

Gravity here is different than all the systems of their own galaxy; Bee and Sam learn that quick enough. They stay close to each other’s sides, not daring to split up and explore the abandoned waste of what was once a great world.

The Son does not reveal Himself; Bee grows anxious with every passing moment. Sam is almost calm, Bee tries to funnel the meditative qualities, but it is only a matter of time before they must face who they’ve come to see.

The sound of a distant, deep bell echoes off the walls.

Even Sam is startled out of her relative brave calm. They both stop in their tracks, waiting for the Son.

The gong heralds nothing, but rings out again. Bee feels it rattle her clenched jaw. It makes her head throb as it intermittently sounds.

_Do you hear the pulse too?_ Sam asks.

It’s not just her head then, there is an almost-heartbeat to the place, along with the sole sounding reminder there is a breath of air somewhere in this wretched place.

Then comes the rumbling laughter.

“Two of you, and in your prime. I could not have struck a better bargain.”

Bee is surprised when the hiss of relation comes from her mouth and not Sam’s, though her sister’s eyes could do better work than lightsabers.

The Son tsks as He materializes in front of them, clouds of dust and whatever horrifying substance He is made of billow at their feet. ( _He must be made of something – He is solid and can decay in His own way, or why else would He fear death?_ )

Circling them, He has no difficulty fighting the forces that seem to keep Bee and Sam rooted to the spot.

“I meant it as a compliment. The great Anakin Skywalker was a loss, I’ll not deny it. His children are far more powerful together than their father, but those sanctimonious Jedi ensured the natural thread of the Force was severed between them from the start.

“You two, however, are pure.”

He leans in, Bee snaps up Sam’s wrist with one hand; Sam’s other already on her lightsaber.

He laughs again, “Pure and as ignorant as all Jedi. My Sister would have liked you two. It’s a pity I’ll have to cut you both open, but there is a price to knowledge.”

“Then why haven’t you done it yet?” Sam snaps.

“And deny you the pleasure of thinking you can hunt me? No.”

_We’re going to have to split up,_ Bee silently whispers. _It’s the only way to corner Him when He hides._

Sam doesn’t say anything back, but she knows. It terrifies her as it terrifies Bee.

The Son looks at them, almost quizzically, as they remain quiet to His taunts and threats.

Bee could nearly laugh in relief: He cannot hear them. There are still rules and boundaries to the Force here, and the Light grants them their first gift.

“Come on, let’s see what you’re made of,” Sam goads, a pouncing hunger in her stance. Bee lets go of her hand and readies herself to the same.

“Your kind are impatient, but if you must –” the figure of the man before them melts away, and a winged beast springs up before them, flying into the featureless sky.

“Begin.”

\----------

The meditation is deep and prolonged, and when Shmi opens her eyes, she is no longer in the lone apprehended fighter, but in a familiar site, one she wishes she were back at now, instead of on the fringe of everything, pushing beyond the reality she knows.

The Temple courtyard. _Home_.

It is quiet, it is peaceful. There is a light breeze and with it, a carried scent of blooming trees and the soft rush of water in the fountain.

But there is something not quite right about it, though Shmi cannot place what about it is different from the one she knows.

In the near distance, she can see figures clustered together, but they do not note her or come closer.

There is a light tapping noise on the stone from the other direction; Shmi spins around and is confronted, for the first time seemingly in the flesh, with Master Yoda.

“A long way, you have come, young Shmi.”

“You said Bee and Sam were in trouble, I had to. Pres asked me too and I can’t let them die.”

Shmi would be breathless for the speed at which she speaks, but she finds she cannot be so here.

Master Yoda harrumphs in memory of something, Shmi is sure. He has a long history of disappointing Skywalkers to look on.

He looks up at her; Shmi bites down on her tongue.

“Your mother, I would have liked to teach,” he says absently.

“Master Yoda, I can’t let them end this by themselves. Even if it means we all die, wouldn’t it be worth it to save the Jedi from extinction again?”

The stillness of this place is in complete opposition to Shmi’s raging storm of thoughts. She’s come to terms. Maybe she’s seen mom and dad for the last time, but maybe she hasn’t. They all have a chance and they all have a choice.

This is hers.

Master Yoda walks towards one of the trees that sprout from clean, white stone; a vision of her younger self with her cousins. She keeps her eyes on Master Yoda.

“A long journey it will be, to the Son’s world. I cannot go with you.”

Shmi nods to his back, “I understand, just show me the way.”

He says no more, but hobbles to the indeterminate source of light, where Shmi knows the courtyard ends in her world, where it falls off to a lower level.

He stops short of the light and points.

Shmi steps over the invisible threshold for a last glance at Master Yoda. He lends her a small smile. She returns the favor.

Then into nothingness.

\----------

They practically tear the ship apart looking for Shmi, though the dreaded truth sinks in far sooner than the end of their search.

Luke corners Pres, suiting up for another recon mission.

“You know where she went.”

He sounds angrier than he wants to be with Pres. He’s tired and there’s resentment towards whatever fate’s ordained. How does Pres get to stay when he and Mara have to lose the only one they have?

( _It is not a contest; all grief is mutual. The voice almost sounds like Ben._ )

Pres hesitates only for a moment, “She spoke to Master Yoda… I didn’t understand it and I don’t think she did entirely either. Something about just letting the Force lapse over?”

If Master Yoda knows a back way in…

Luke hasn’t gone back into the afterlife since he and Leia were gifted their first and final goodbyes. ( _The strongest sensory memory he holds to is his mother’s fingers, tight around his arm._ )

The Light Side still has its small tricks.

Luke blinks back tears and pats Pres on the shoulder.

“Good hunting.”

( _He hopes it will be enough for Mara. Is it even enough for himself?_ )

\----------

Mom and dad gang up on him again, but Pres digs his heels in for the next assault on Viscous.

He will be going on this offensive campaign and that’s final. Their pleas, ‘you’re the last, the girls are gone, we won’t let you, you’re all that’s left,’ sting more viciously than they ever have, but Pres must do his part. ( _He doesn’t sleep anymore; he knows his sisters and Shmi do not._ )

Besides, they’re going to fight today, systems away, why shouldn’t he?

From a distance, he watches as they hover at the foot of the ramp to the Falcon with Chewie. In a twinge of cowardice, he wishes he could run to them, to beg forgiveness, but they’d probably kidnap him, refuse to let him get on the transport down to the surface where Viscous holds sway.

A little closer, Mara and Luke say goodbye to each other. Pres looks away.

When Mara brushes past him silently, it’s time to leave.

Master Seddwia pounds the side of the ship when they’re on board.

“Let’s move out!”

Pres catches his last glance of the Falcon from the porthole.

\----------

The fight against her limbs, against gravity, against the Force is even more difficult without Bee at her side, but Sam knows exactly where she is, on the other side of the city.

They must pin the Son in.

Sam crouches at the edge of a building watching the beast stalk back and forth across a great way. Elsewhere, Sam could make the jump, could pinpoint exactly where her green lightsaber could cut into the shoulder blade and down through the body.

Here, she is only assured a leap would have her fall flat on her face in the center of the dusty street.

She exhales; smoke without fire is all they breathe here.

“Come now, child, you hold all your forbearer’s rage.”

Sam hates how her blood boils at the remark.

“And your sister, so cold and detached. Funny how just as many are lost to that as they are anger.”

Sam knows better, Sam charges anyway.

Her fingers catch the edge of the Son’s perch, but she can’t catapult herself upwards. She can’t stop herself from yelling when He digs his claws into her hands.

( _Her yells echo with the tolling._ )

She wiggles her hands free and lets herself fall to the ground, mercifully landing on both her feet. Unsteady, dazed, and with bloody hands, she looks up as He swoops off in search of Bee.

“Next time,” she promises herself. “I’ll get you next time.”

\----------

Shmi’s foot goes down on something soft. Not soft, but it gives way to her more than the smooth ground she just stood upon.

Blinking the last of the bright light out of her eyes, she is plunged into darkness. She squeezes her eyes shut then opens them again.

It is still not light, but she clearly looks up to a domed, starless sky. Where the light is coming from, she cannot say.

She looks down at what she stepped on.

All around her, for miles, possibly forever, sand.

( _It is the Force’s idea of a cruel joke. The first generation not to have Tatooine inflicted on them and yet here she is._ )

She will not be cowed by it.

She reaches out with the Force, asking, ‘lead me, lead me.’

She takes another step, then another. After a time, the horizon begins to diffuse with a grey sort of light, the kind that reminds her of rainy, glum mornings on Naboo, where mist hangs everywhere.

“How will I find my way back?” she asks the expanse.

No answer.

Shmi looks upwards and a pinprick of light from where she came dots the darkness. She turns her head in the direction where she came, where footprints are already blown away by the wind. ( _What wind? This place is still, but for her._ )

There, in the sky, is a trail of stars; imagined constellations.

Shmi turns on her heel and continues forward.

\----------

They’re back to the desolate shithole where Luke and Leia first found Viscous and his men. There’s a shard in Mara’s heart where she wishes they brought the war to Dathomir, make the bastards pay for ripping her home away from her, her daughter –

( _She’s still alive, wherever she is; I can feel her. Why does Leia not feel her girls? Are they lost for good?_ )

Canon fire roars around her and the fog of war stings her nostrils, her ears, her mouth, her eyes. Good thing she can sense her surroundings and her enemies, though they make it easy.

“If it isn’t Mara Jade?” Viscous spits out in a tone she’s too familiar with these days.

“If it isn’t Viscous,” she mimics, like the younglings in the training room.

“Low, for you,” he notes, though Mara wastes no energy listening, just sensing out their pattern of circling before he strikes.

And he does ignite his blade first, leaping up in the air and down on her.

In the chaos, it becomes difficult to distinguish between the red and purple, not like the purple and green in friendly spars and Mara miscalculates.

She lunges for his neck and misses. Enraged, Viscous slams down on her, the lightsaber singeing her shoulder.

Mara yells more in irritation at such an easy oversight than in pain, but it signals out their location to others.

It’s Pres’s blade that takes off Viscous’s arm. Then what happens next, Mara doesn’t anticipate until it’s over.

Viscous pulls out one of the Sith’s dreadful new blades – lightsabers without cauterization – and drags it from Pres’s neck to his gut.

There isn’t a sound from Pres as he falls forward on his knees.

It is nothing for Mara to take Viscous’s head clean off. It’s not in anger or revenge, just the next step in the duel.

She grabs Pres’s shoulder, and through some godsdamn miracle, despite the blood spilling from his mouth, his chest still rises and falls. But there’s no way she can pick him up, not like when he was merely Luke’s nephew and it was a curiosity that Mara Jade should ever entertain a baby.

“I need help over here!” she screams, her throat raw. “Someone get me a transport!”

Iella is the first to reach her.

“We need to get him to the med ship, we need to call his parents, we need to –”

Mara babbles. If this boy is lost, then there is no reclaiming her nieces, no reclaiming Shmi. All their children gone, after they fucked over their lives and their peace, time and time again to make sure the Dark Side wouldn’t harm anyone.

Set’s the next pair of hands to drag Pres up. Dazed, Mara remains kneeling next to the head of their vanquished enemy ( _Does it matter? The Son still exists, somewhere._ )

“Someone get Master Mara!” Set yells.

Later, Mara doesn’t remember who nearly threw her onto the transport, away from the battle.

\----------

The white of the medical frigate reminds him of too many instances he’d rather forget. It couldn’t have been only four years ago they –

Luke stays leaning against the wall; Set lends an extra hand for support. Ahsoka paces; Luke mostly focuses on the steady sound of footsteps.

He can’t look at Mara, sitting – staring at the floor.

“It’s not your fault,” never leaves his throat.

He stands up a little straighter when he senses Leia on the other side. ( _How she stole the controls from Han when she realized what was happening, lightyears away._ )

“He’s stable, he’s breathing. For now.”

They all stare at her dumbly.

“Please come in, I know he’d want you near.”

Whatever Pres would have wanted, it looks as though Han wants the exact opposite when they file in silently.

Luke turns to look for Mara, to take up her hand, but she’s gone.

He finds her in the showers, sitting on the floor, fully dressed and soaked through. She can’t show her tears. Luke steps in; the water is frigid.

Quietly, “You’re not supposed to get your bandage wet.”

He throws his own robe over her, as if it will protect the bandage from ruin and sits next to her, nearly relishing in the cold bite.

“I can’t sense her anymore,” she croaks.

Luke tries to not let the grief take hold, but as long as Mara knew Shmi was alive, he could hold to hope.

( _That he never sensed he had a sister, a father, a mother – and now it is like there was never a daughter._ )

Mara curls into his chest and there they remain until the water ration runs out.

\---------

They have been gone for days, weeks, years.

Though there is hunger, Bee truly wants in thirst. The blood from the inside of her mouth where she’s bitten her lip time and time again only makes it worse. Her parched throat burns.

When she does catch sight of Sam, there are dried rivulets of red running down her arms. Bee isn’t sure if it is Sam’s blood or His.

This encounter with the Son, Bee finds herself slammed against a wall. She hits it with such power, she is sure it will crash down on top of her.

As she gasps for air, the Son chuckles and as His wings fold over, He seems to shrink, though the figure before her is still large and looming. The masked figure sounds just like the old records she’s always tried to avoid, though the interrogations made it impossible.

“It is amazing what you will withstand for some principle. War is the only thing that gives us our name, remember that.”

“You are not my grandfather!” she screams. Her voice is jagged and stabs her throat from disuse.

“Good. You do recognize this man as your progenitor. Denial has never done us any good. Now, tell me how it’s done.”

The Son needs to _stop_. Tears prick at Bee’s eyes and she charges forward. The Son leaps skywards, the beast again.

Bee leaps futilely, lightsaber aloft, only this time it is different. Her feet leave the ground and she rises as if she were in a practice chamber, as if she were home.

The beast’s beak opens in alarm. He anticipated this as little as she did, but Bee will not waste the chance.

Her lightsaber goes through the beast’s gut. A bright green tip comes out from the other side, inches from her face.

Sam is on His back, hilt driven between His shoulder blades.

There is a scream Bee is sure will deafen them permanently and then, one final, slow, rumble of the damned gong which plagues her head.

The Son seems to be burning from within and Bee and Sam will not escape the conflagration. Flames lick at Bee’s face, singing her hair. She snatches her hilt out from Him before it is too hot to touch and leaps for the ground.

Sam hits the dirt at the same time, surround by the same cloud of ash, where they’ll lie next to each other forever.

Or not.

“Shmi?!” Sam screams; Bee snaps her attention in front of her as she pushes herself up.

There, against all odds, stands their cousin, looking nearly as worn and awful.

“I can get us out of here.”

\----------

Leia stands and moves to the window when the cost is brought up. Han won’t move from his spot. He’s not leaving Pres, not ever again.

“A permanent respirator,” the droid says with the same blankness Han feels.

“I’m selling the Falcon,” he says to Leia. He won’t consult Chewie. He doesn’t need to.

Watery, “Who’s going to buy the ship of a disgraced ex-rebel?”

“Fuck it, she’s a good ship. They can rename her and everything, I don’t really fucking care.”

Leia sits back down, but does not face Pres.

Han asks the question he hasn’t dared in weeks, “Do you sense the girls?”

He wishes like hell this Jedi thing was good for something now. He’ll do whatever the damn religion wants him to if Leia can just say ‘yes.’

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Han looks away from the bed and at Leia’s tired face.

“When I was asleep yesterday.” ( _Han had spared her a few precious hours; an extra cot had been rolled in._ ) “I thought I did,” she says less certain.

Hope against hope, Han will take it.

\----------

If she didn’t know their presences so well, Shmi would mistake Bee and Sam for wraiths.

A smoldering, foul corpse litters the courtyard where she’s found them.

“Is that Him?” she asks the obvious.

Suddenly, Bee and Sam tackle her. Shmi gropes for her lightsaber, for if the Son’s possessed them, it might be the only way to stop him once and for good.

The Force of the place concentrates around the smoking beast and there is an impulse backwards like a great explosion as the final bell tolls.

“He’s going to tear down this reality before we can get out!” Bee yells and the three of them start running.

“This way!” Shmi calls through the dust and grabbing a hold of Bee’s hand, they make their way forward, blindly.

Hard, packed ground eventually kicks up into sand, but Shmi still can’t see anything. She blindly leads their chain forward into the sandstorm. Without the star pathway, they will be lost in this crack between life and death for good. It may be futile to keep running, but it is even more senseless not to fight.

Bee and Sam begin to drag behind her; exhausted from their toils. Whatever kept them going back in that hell does not exist here.

Shmi tries to call out for Master Yoda. Maybe he can hear a great noise in the quiet paradise where he resides.

“Someone, help us!” she shouts instead.

They have been at the mercy of the Son for so long; it is time for the Daughter to clear the way.

A solid hand that does not belong to Master Yoda and could not belong to the Daughter of the stained glass imagination holds fast around Shmi’s arm and pulls.

\----------

Her senses don’t feel so clear anymore, so when Darrin calls up their new resting place to come to the hangar, Leia doesn’t believe him.

It is the first time Han has left Pres’s side. He makes sort of a strangled yell on sight; Leia can barely see for the tears flooding her eyes. Han catches Bee first. Sam feels as light as she did the day she was placed in Leia’s arms.

She pulls back to not cheat her eyes of the sight of her daughters.

Sam is covered in dried blood, skin bright with small burns, wisps of hair charred on end, but she is largely unharmed. Bee is the same then Leia finally sees Shmi, hovering several feet behind them.

Sam still tight in one arm, Leia beckons in Shmi and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispers into her hair.

_Luke, get here as fast as you can._

“Where’s Pres?” she hears Bee ask.

The returned resolve Han built up at hearing of the girls’ return visibly crumbles before Leia. It takes Bee seemingly all her energy to pull him back up.

“Where is he?” Sam repeats Bee’s question.

“Come on, let’s go see him,” Leia says as bravely as she can.

She puts a hand to Han’s elbow; the girls lock hands tightly.

\----------

He’s called out to them with no sound; seen them only when they seem to be looking the other way.

It is fitting when Pres opens his eyes this time, Bee, Sam, and Shmi are with his parents and Chewie. More chance someone will see him.

( _They’re back. Sending them away wasn’t in vain. The digging feeling in his chest he must have borne all his life doesn’t seem to hurt so much anymore._ )

The first word to form in mind, ‘mom,’ comes from someone else’s mouth, someone with a voice he doesn’t recognize.

_Who else is there who could be called mom?_

All heads whip around. Mom squeezes his limp-feeling hand.

“You don’t sound so bad. Hardly any different,” says dad, and Pres doesn’t understand.

“Dad?” says the voice again.

There’s a dull pounding of recognition. It sounds as though Pres speaks from deep underwater. He tries yelling again, but it comes out the same.

Mom hushes him, “You had to be put on a respirator, which is in your chest. That’s the voice modulator.”

Pres looks frantically at the girls and Chewie at the foot of his bed and back at his parents. He can’t tell if they look happy or sad.

It all rushes back to him; the noise, the stench. He remembers why he jumped foolishly into the fray in the first place.

“Where’s –”

“On her way with Luke,” mom anticipates.

“The girls got back just before you did. That’s pretty great, huh?” dad asks, making no effort to hide how thick his voice is.

Pres nods.

\----------

In the testimonies that follow, Ahsoka is glad the girls come only to her. Luke and Leia, Mara and Han: they shouldn’t hear these things yet; the girls are not ready to tell them.

( _Instead they listen for news of the disintegrating Sith regime. Sometimes they fly out, but never far._ )

“He must have grown stronger without the reigning influence of the Father and the Sister. It must have taken a great effort for Him to come back and no wonder He feared death again,” Ahsoka contemplates out loud.

She tries her best to recall her encounter all those years ago, for their sakes. It must have been frightening at the time, but having looked too many worse things in the face, it fades for her.

It is Shmi’s account that truly captures her.

“And Master Yoda would not follow you into the void?”

“He said he _couldn’t_.”

“But you’re sure it was Anakin who pulled you through most the way.”

“I know his presence,” Shmi says forcefully, a little annoyed.

“Of course you do,” Ahsoka apologizes.

This jumping between worlds, between realities – Ahsoka wonders if the Skywalkers will ever stop, though this may have been the final.

( _The raging galaxy will give way to silent stars._ )

And now they all look towards home.

\----------

Though he knows exactly where they both are, Luke slides the door open to where Mara and Shmi sleep.

Shmi is wrapped in Mara, her mother’s arm tightly over her, both bodies rising and falling in time.

Luke closes the door.

It is a gift of grace the king allows them refuge on Naboo. There isn’t quite a place for them back on Coruscant and Luke is grateful for all the work they did reinstilling old faith in Padmé Amidala. It cannot be shaken, even by Darth Vader.

It is not an aimless walk through the house, but Luke does not remember coming to the veranda, where Leia waits alone.

It’s chilly outside in the predawn. The lake is so still, waves do not lap at the dock below. The silence is only pierced by a beast’s caw in the far distance.

“They still asleep?” he asks her, though he’s sure he knows the answer.

“Han’s pretending to, although I think he will soon.”

Luke sits beside her, looking at the same mountains she stares off to then down at his hands.

“I just spoke with Ahsoka.”

Leia only raises her eyebrow as a response.

“They’ve cleared out the statue.”

Leia remains silent.

“A new one could be made –”

“Or we leave it empty.”

_That’s what I said._

The sky is no closer to lightening.

Luke waits to hear Leia’s news. It takes some time.

“Winter says the council’s clamoring for my return,” then somewhat archly, “They said it was the senate who pressured them to replace me and disinherit us, not them.”

“But that’s true.”

Leia’s face pulls back with a frown, the acid still on her tongue.

“Still. They could have given us quarry.”

Leia would stew on the past; Luke looks forward.

“You don’t want to go back.”

“No, I don’t think I will. It’s time the senate had new minds, they clearly need it. I have less of a choice about the title, and I don’t think I could throw away that institution as easily. Alderaan must be remembered, and if I am the last princess of the blood – or someone’s blood, at least, so be it.”

( _More time to heal, more time with the children who need their mother a little longer._ )

Luke nods, then shudders; ill-equipped for the cold. Leia loops her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder.

The grey sky dissolves into a brighter pink. Luke squints against the new light.

It promises to be an exceptionally beautiful morning.

**Author's Note:**

> And with this fic, we’ve come to an end of what’s been written for this “little” project. We hadn’t produced much prior to posting on AO3, and nothing new has been written since, but we feel fairly safe calling this project complete. We’ve moved onto another since then, which may very well find its way onto this account, but hopefully not after years of backlog pileup. We’ve been overwhelmed by the response and it’s pretty exciting to see the number of people who were interested in this (potentially polarizing) AU of the prequels and EU. Hopefully it’s been as enjoyable to read as it has been to write and thanks so much for all the love over the past few months! And please, please, please feel free to comment because we’d love to talk about this ‘verse with you!


End file.
